The third Sunday in April
This time last year I was nodding off from a Xanax-induced coma on the floor in the living room at my mom’s house, my best friend staying up vigilant next to me. We had spread out numerous mattress pads, air mattresses and blankets in an attempt to make the wood floor as comfortable as possible. I couldn’t sleep in a bed. I had just woken up in my bed that morning to find
the most terrifying scene of my life. I needed to be somewhere that was not a bed.
My mind wanders back to that day over and over and over again. Waking up to realize he hadn’t come to bed, looking blindly around to find him (I didn’t have my glasses on and I’m nearly blind as a bat) and realizing he was directly next to me as I settled back down into my pillow. That image is forever burned into my memory. Seeing him so stiff, his skin so blue and cold, his eyes rolled back into his head with his tongue sticking out ever so slightly. This is the image that will play on repeat in my brain for eternity. I lost my best friend that day. I lost my sanity, my security and my life as I knew it.
Today marked the year anniversary of his death. Not to the date, no, but he died on the third Sunday of the month and forever I will hate this day. Tuesday is the actual date-anniversary. I don’t know what I’m going to do or how I’m going to react. It almost seems silly to blow it out of proportion. What does a date signify? What makes it anymore heart wrenching than the day before or the day after? On Monday, he won’t be here. On Wednesday, he won’t be here. Tuesday is just another day without him.
I still find myself talking to him out loud, screaming at him for what he did, crying telling him how much I miss him, reminiscing and day dreaming about what could have been. It’s been a year and it feels as if nothing has changed. Every little thing reminds me of him. I question if moving back home was a good idea. Whenever I go to an old haunt, I picture the times I had there with my boyfriend. I see a road, a house, a sign, something, anything we had talked about, and I think of him.
I just wish the sadness would go away, that I could move on, but it hasn’t and I know it’s going to be quite a bit longer until that actually happens. Tonight I miss him so much, because it’s him who could convince me everything would be just fine, as long as we had each other.